


silent night

by pandizzy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It of Sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:01:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24362476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandizzy/pseuds/pandizzy
Summary: A rewriting of my old silent night drabble.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 14
Kudos: 75





	silent night

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewriting of my other silent night fanfic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13883511  
> I thought it would be a fun little challenge to see how much my writing has changed!

He is watching her.

She can sense his eyes on her, gentle, and full of worry. He’s pretending not to, she knows, but he has always been terrible at pretending. Maybe she should pretend to fall asleep, so he’d feel more at ease in his need to observe her. He doesn’t want to seem obsessive with his worries, only looking at her when he thought she wouldn’t notice.

But she doesn’t. She turns her head and their eyes meet. Gray and blue, like before. His cheeks flush with color and embarrassment at being caught in the act, but he doesn’t move. She smiles, softly, without showing her teeth, and feels around the bed with her hand, trying to find his. Her body relaxes when she finds his fingers, intertwining them with hers.

He has rough hands. Burned, calloused. A warrior’s hands. He has killed many people with these hands, she knows, but he never touched her with anything other than the utmost love and respect. These hands are kind to her, kinder than most, and she could spend days with them on her body; caressing her cheek, kneading her breast, massaging her clit.

“Are you alright?” he asks, voice low.

“Yes,” she says, nodding.

He smiles and his teeth glow in the darkness, reflecting the moonlight passing through the open window. His dark curls fall to his face, like a black curtain covering half his cheek.

It’s late. Very late, in fact. They should be asleep like the entire castle hopefully is, but, for some reason, they are not. The King and Queen, awake in the night like naughty children. She presses a hand against her mouth, almost laughing and his smile grows.

She likes being alone with him, without the restrictions of duties and honor. She could whisper something to him and no one would ever find out her words. He wouldn’t judge her or even blink at her secrets.

She wonders if her parents had this easiness, this comfort between lovers. She hopes they did.

“May I?” he whispers, his words hanging in the air. His fingers brush against her swollen belly and the babe inside kicks, stretching its tiny fingers in search of its father.

“Yes.”

He touches her stomach gently, caressing the sore skin with his burned hand and the babe kicks him. He chuckles and, boldly, adds another hand.

This child will be their third. She prays every day for a daughter, a little girl to follow their two sons. A companion for her mother. The North already had its future king, she deserved a princess of her own.

His hand traces the curve of her middle. Once, during a similar night as this, when she was carrying their oldest, he told her that he was afraid for his children. He didn’t want them to look at his hands, at his chest, and think he was a monster, that they’d be afraid him. She answered that they would look at him and feel love for their father, the legendary hero who saved the North from the Others and the Dragon Queen. They wouldn’t see the scars, only the man.

It took years before his insecurities melted away, before he realized the truth in her words. Their eldest followed him around everywhere, begging for stories and training sessions. His brother was shyer, hiding in her skirts more often than not, but he too was in awe of his great father and often told her that he prayed every night to be as good and brave as him.

The baby stops moving, falling asleep after kicking its father more, and his smile grows bigger. She watches him quietly, afraid that anything she says could disrupt the quiet calmness they are in.

His smile is simple and clear. Happy, even. After years of war, sorrow, and deaths, they are safe. They’ve saved their house and built back their home.

Her eyelids feel heavy and she yawns. He smiles, knowingly, and settles back on the bed, opening his arms like an invitation. She lays on his chest, wrapping her body around his. He touches her hair, wrapping a lock around his finger, and she smiles. His heart beats strongly against her ear, a comforting thump more soothing than any lullaby she ever heard.

Sansa falls asleep with a smile on her face, knowing that the next day will bring nothing to fear, nothing to mar her face with tears.

And even if it does, Jon will be there to keep her safe.


End file.
